Helstone's Roses
by BelaSYD
Summary: What happened to the rose that Margaret had in her hand, when her family moved to Milton - N&S DVD? What did Margaret do with the dead roses John gave her on the back drawing room of Mrs. Shaw's house when they got engaged -  N&S book?


**Helstone's roses**

What happened to the rose that Margaret had in her hand, when her family moved to Milton (N&S DVD)? What did Margaret do with the dead roses John gave her on the back drawing room of Mrs. Shaw's house when they got engaged (N&S book)?

After Margaret and John became engaged, they think about each other - mostly late at night.

NOTE: this story includes a passage (N&S book) from John's first proposal to Margaret (see if you can spot it) and the note Margaret wrote, when she left one of her father's book for John (N&S book) – the book in this story is Plato (N&S adaptation)

I hope you enjoy it!

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><p><strong>Helstone's roses<strong>

Mr. Thornton left Mrs. Shaw's house in Harley Street in the early evening, to collect his things from the hotel and take the night train to Milton. As much as he hated to leave Margaret so soon, on the same evening of the day they became engaged, he had not been able to avoid it. He had a meeting in the next morning, with a Milton manufacturer, called Richardson, who wanted to buy several of his new looms and spinning mules. He would have to tell him that they were no longer for sale; but still, he had been very grateful when Richardson had offered to buy them and he hadn't wanted to be discourteous to the man and cancel the meeting via telegraph. In his view, speak to Richardson face to face was the right thing to do.

It was still not dark and Mr. Thornton decided to walk to his hotel which, was not very far from Mrs. Shaw's house. Margaret went with him to the house door, where they said their goodbyes. He kissed her hand and he was gone. After walking only a few meters, Mr. Thornton turned towards the house and saw Margaret, still standing at the door, looking at him. He waved at her and then looked at the house. Two days earlier, when he had arrived at the 96 Harley Street, to attend a dinner party at the invitation of Mr. Lennox, he had been astonished by the imposing size of the house, its immaculate presentation and its beautiful architecture. When Mr. Lennox had invited him for dinner he had been eager to accept, because even if he had no hopes of a future with Margaret, he longed to see her again. But when he saw the house, he felt a great sense of unworthiness. She lived in that beautiful home, among educated and refined people and she was now a rich woman. While he... he was poorly educated, uncouth and had failed in his business. He had stopped in front of the house, and for a moment, he wished that he had not accepted the invitation. But it was too late to retreat and he had to go in. Later, when he had left the house, after the dinner, he felt disappointment and sadness because, even if he had seen Margaret, they had hardly spoken and she had merely asked him the necessary questions respecting her old acquaintances, in Milton. Again he had looked at the grandeur of the house and had felt the great gulf that existed between him and Margaret.

But now, after the unexpected realization that Margaret loved him and finding himself engaged to her, everything had changed. Her family, after the initial surprise, had welcomed him and warmed up to him. Shortly before he left the house, they had had an early tea, especially arranged so that he would be in good time to catch his train; and he had felt very comfortable among them, and readily accepted as someone soon to be one of them, a member of the family. Their goodbyes had been friendly and warm with lots of wishes for a safe journey to Milton and expressions of wishes to see him soon. So it was that, when he gave a last look towards the house, before turning a corner, the house, while still grand and imposing, seemed to him like a friend. For inside this house she lived. Margaret, who by accepting him had guaranteed him a future happier than any other time he had known before in his life. He stopped for a moment and while still looking at the house he said 'Goodnight Margaret, goodnight my love!'

When Margaret could no longer see Mr. Thornton, she closed the door and went to the drawing room in search of Aunt Shaw and Edith. She knew that they still had many questions, which had not been asked in their late morning conversation, when she had told her aunt that she had just become engaged to Mr. Thornton; for, after all, Mr. Thornton had been left on the back drawing room, waiting for Margaret's return to reintroduce him to her family, not as her tenant but as her fiancée and future husband. They could also not ask her questions, in the afternoon, when Mr. Thornton was in the house.

In the morning, when Margaret had told her aunt about the engagement, her aunt was almost in shock. She had looked at Margaret with wide open eyes for a long time, before she said:  
>'It cannot be true, Margaret, you hardly know that man.'<br>Margaret could not hide her grin, when she heard those words: 'Well! He did say that she was going to say "that man".'she said to herself. It was typical of Mrs. Shaw not to think about things removed from her own life and so, she had not taken into account that Margaret had lived for eighteen months in Milton and that 'that man' was her father's pupil and friend and that it was possible that Margaret knew him well. So it was that, as Margaret had expected, she had had to explain their relationship at length and the conversation had taken a long time.

But by the evening, both Aunt Shaw and Edith had become somewhat accustomed to the news, and being typical females, they wanted to know all the romantic details that Margaret had not had the opportunity to tell them earlier in the day. Her aunt and cousin also wanted to discuss details of the forthcoming wedding. Edith, in particular, was hoping that Margaret would let her take an active part in the decision making and selection of the various things needed. Margaret did not care much about all the little details and she only hoped that her wedding would not become the same whirlwind that Edith's wedding was. But for once, she was happy to submit to Edith's talk without ever losing her smile. There was nothing on that day that could make her feel unhappy.

What had been more difficult for Margaret, during the day, had been to avoid the bouts of Dixon's indignation at the thought that Margaret would return to Milton. Every time she had seen Dixon she was grumbling by herself and looked at Margaret with fuming eyes.

Finally, after a long and very happy day, the happiest day of her life, Margaret was able to go to her room. She bolted the door quickly, afraid that Dixon may follow her there. She had been waiting for this moment for some hours, as she wanted to write a letter to Mr. Thornton... John, as she now called him. She wanted to write him a long letter. She had never written a love letter before and her heart was full of joy when she entered her room. She opened her bedside unit and took her prayer book. She leafed through it, searching for the pressed roses that John had given her that very morning. She took the roses from the book and kissed them. For Margaret receiving those roses had been like finding a hidden treasure. They had been important enough for John to pick them during his visit to Helstone, press them inside his pocket book and carry them with him ever since. The loss of colour was a testimonial of how long he had had those roses inside his pocket book, close to his heart; their age made them much more precious to her. Even if she had not known that John carried those roses with him, they had been a link between them. A link between her and the man she had loved for so long and whom she had believed to have lost forever. Margaret looked at the roses for a while. May be she would get them framed, to be hang in their bedroom, when they were married. John would like that. Yes! She was sure that he would like that. She walked towards her writing desk, laid the roses carefully on the desk and started writing. But it was not a letter to John, for as much as she wanted to write to him, there was another letter she had to write first; she had to write to Mrs. Thornton. Disliking it or not, it had to be done.

By the time Margaret finished her letter to Mrs. Thornton, she had filled her rubbish bin with failed attempts. It had taken her much longer than she had expected and it was very late and her candle was already near the end. This forced her to hurry on her letter to John and also to write him a letter much shorter than what she had intended. Even so, she wrote it with a great deal of joy, because it was a letter to John.

_Dear, dearest John,_  
><em>How do I like to call you by your first name! ...It makes feel so real this wonderful thing that happened to us today. I miss you already and I wish that you hadn't needed to return to Milton so soon.<em>  
><em>I had planned to write you a long letter but, after you left, I had to submit to a long talk of wedding dresses, ribbons, laces, trousseau, wedding breakfast etc. for Edith believe that unless I let her make the selections for me I will choose the plainest wedding dress and become the least attractive bride London has ever seen; and the wedding itself will be a non event. She is quite right about me choosing a plain dress... in any case much plainer than anything she would chose. In any other day all this talk of laces and ribbons would have tired and bored me but today nothing could make me feel unhappy or wipe the smile from my face. But I still hope that all the wedding preparations can be done without too much stress and confusion and I would like to hear your own opinion about that.<br>Then, I spent at least two hours (because of many failed attempts) writing a much needed letter to your mother. Yes, to your mother! I know that you will be trying to convince her of my good qualities, but I feel responsible for some of the misunderstandings between us; and as she will soon be family, I felt necessary to write to her. But now is very late and my candle (already my spare one) is nearly finished and soon I will be in the dark. So, don't be disappointed, my love, if my first letter to you is short. You know now that my love for you has survived a long absence, without news or letters; and that you will have it forever.  
>Tomorrow, I will write again and I promise to tell you everything I did during the day, at the risk of boring you with details; but I'm afraid it will be a short day, for I doubt that I will be awake before noon (joke!).<br>Please write soon!  
>Goodnight, John! Goodnight, my love!<em>  
><em>Yours Margaret<em>

When she was laying in her bed, just before she blown out her candle, Margaret smiled and said to herself: 'A letter to John... the first love letter I wrote in my life.'

Sitting in the train, Mr. Thornton smiled at his recollections of the day. It had been a very happy day, the happiest day of his life. He had woken up feeling low and apprehensive about his meeting with Margaret and Henry Lennox, in a few hours. He had believed that there was an attachment between Margaret and Mr. Lennox and he had felt that it would be very difficult, painful really, for him to witness their familiarity and see the looks that, most certainly, would pass between them during the meeting. But Mr. Lennox had not shown up for the meeting. And finally, when Margaret appeared, after a wait of nearly one hour, it had taken him only a few minutes, before the idea started to form in his mind that she was not indifferent to him. Once that idea had taken hold he had watched her close and soon he felt almost confident that she cared for him. And in a few more minutes, he knew it for sure: she loved him! And in that extraordinary morning they had become engaged. And now his heart was almost bursting with happiness!

In the afternoon, Margaret had taken him for a walk, to show him some of her favourite places in London. Mrs. Shaw had insisted that they take a footman with them and Margaret had been quick to agree. Later she had told him that she and her aunt always had discussions about footmen. Her aunt would prefer if Margaret always had one with her; but in recent months she had often walked by herself. Margaret also had told him, that on that day, she did not mind if she had to walk with a footman or not; all she cared about was that she would be walking with him. She said that she would have taken one, two or even three footmen with her if her aunt had insisted. During their walk, they visited the botanical gardens and there Margaret and he had sat in a bench; and she told him that she had often sat there thinking about and missing him. Then he understood how much she had suffered and longed for him. In the same way that he too, had suffered and longed for her. While he hated to think that she had suffered, it warmed his heart to know that she had loved him for a long time... for nearly two years.

During his long train trip to Milton, Mr. Thornton tried in vain to think the best way to tell his mother about the day's events; but his mind kept drifting towards thoughts about Margaret. He thought about how happy, healthy and beautiful she looked; how the colour of her dress was becoming to her and how it had looked against her ivory skin; how, during their walk, the wind kept throwing lose strands of her black hair across her face and her eyes; and how she tried to move those strands away from her face again and again. But most of all, he thought about how her eyes shone, when she looked at him; and about the gentle warmth he felt, during their walk, in the place where her hand touched his arm. In the end, it was impossible for him to think about anything else than her, and he gave up his resolution to prepare for the talk to his mother.

Mr. Thornton arrived in Milton in the early morning. It was a few miles walk from the station to his home and it took some time; but this morning he felt like walking. He always liked Milton in the early morning, when the city was still calm, before the hassle and bustle of the day. On that morning he walked with pride; a pride he had not felt for some time. Not only he would have the mill back in operation, and it would still be his mill; but he would be wealthier than ever before. The buildings, the house... everything ... would be his. Margaret's and his! He hardly noticed the time passing and soon he arrived home.

Around mid morning, after his meeting with Mr. Richardson, Mr. Thornton went to the main weaving sheds. Once there, he walked, slowly, from one end to another. He looked at the looms as if they were old friends, who he had not seen for a while. He went to the spinning rooms and there too he walked, slowly, from one end to another; and looked at the spinning mules. Then he went to the storage rooms; and looked at the piles of raw cotton, ready to being turned into lengths of fabric. Finally, he gave a sigh of relief. His mill, his life work, which he had believed lost until the previous morning, was not lost after all. Everything was ready in waiting for the men to arrive and restart the machines, in another two days time. 'And all this is down to Margaret' he said to himself. 'She has saved me not once, but twice, no, not only twice; she has saved me three times. The first time during the riot. The second time, by making me realize the importance of seeing my workers not as hands, but as men. And the third time, by offering me money to reopen the mill. ... All this gladness in life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, all this keen sense of being, I owe to her! And it doubles the gladness, it makes the pride glow, it sharpens the sense of existence to think that I owe it to one whom I love and who loves me.' But Mr. Thornton had many things to do in that day and he could not dwell in contemplation. He had promised Margaret to restart the work in the mill as soon as possible. She was concerned about the workers without jobs, many of them she knew. Now, he too knew many of his workers as man, and he was keen to give them the glad news as soon as possible. This very afternoon!

After lunch, Mr. Thornton walked briskly towards Higgins's house, going first into the post-office. He had with him the round robin with the names of the men who had stated their wish to work for him again. He reinstated Higgins' job and gave him the task to track the men listed in the round ribbon. He also asked Higgins to spread the news that everyone who had been employed at the mills, at the time when it closed down, would be given their jobs back; and to let them know that the mills would reopen in two days time. Only after completing all the business discussion, Mr. Thornton gave Higgins the news that he was sure would make him very happy. It did!

When he finished everything he had planned, Mr. Thornton realized that it was late afternoon. The day had passed very quickly!

Finally, after the long day, Mr. Thornton was able to go to his private room. He had been waiting for this moment for some hours, as he wanted to write a letter to Margaret. He had written her a note in the morning, while waiting for Mr. Richardson, and he had posted it before going to Higgins' house. But it had been only a short note, because that was all he had had time to write. Now, however he planned to write her a long letter. He had never written a love letter before and his heart was full of joy, when he entered his room. He opened his bedside unit and took a book from inside it. Then he opened the book and reached for a note inside it. He read the note in a soft voice:

_'DEAR SIR,—The accompanying book I am sure will be valued by you for the sake of my father, to whom it belonged._  
><em>'Yours sincerely,<em>  
><em>'MARGARET HALE.'<em>

He ran his fingers through the note, softly, slowly, in the same way he had done many times before. Then he leafed through the pages of the book until he found a single rose, pressed; placed inside the book about three years before, by Margaret herself; when she had come to live in Milton. He took the rose out and kissed it. He said to himself, smiling 'I have a rose that Margaret picked and now she has the roses that I picked.' He felt sure that Margaret had no idea that the rose was inside the book she had left for him when her father died.

Mr. Thornton remembered the day when he had first seen that rose. That book, Plato, was the very first book he had read with Mr. Hale. During his first reading, he had opened the book and had found the rose inside it. At that time, the rose was still bright yellow. Mr. Thornton had shown the rose to Mr. Hale and Mr. Hale had said:  
>'Ah! ... Margaret's favourite flowers... from our house in Helstone.'<br>Mr. Hale had looked long and thoughtfully at the rose, and then he had said:  
>'It must be the rose Margaret picked on our last day in Helstone. She had it in her hands, in the train... all the way to Milton. It must be that rose, because Margaret knows that I don't like flowers pressed inside my books. ... But she didn't bring any books with her when we moved; ... we had to discard so many things...'<br>Mr. Thornton had asked Mr. Hale if he wanted to remove the rose from the book but, Mr. Hale had said:  
>'No, no! ... I don't have the heart... just leave it in there. Margaret may look for it and then she will find it again.'<p>

But, if Margaret had looked for the rose, she had not found it, for Mr. Thornton was sure, she would not have left the rose there, when she left the book for him. At least that was what he had thought when, after being given the book; he had searched for the rose and had found it, still there. Now, for a brief moment, he thought that maybe Margaret had left the rose there, knowing he would find it. But it was a brief thought and he dismissed it quickly. Most likely Margaret had completely forgotten about the rose, in those first months in Milton, when life had become so very difficult for her. She had struggled to understand the pace and harshness of Milton and after a few months she had had the sorrow of her mother's illness and death. She had forgotten completely about the rose, he felt sure of it.

For Mr. Thornton, finding the rose inside the book had been like finding a hidden treasure. For treasure that rose had been for him after Margaret's return to London. That rose had been important enough for Margaret to take all the way to Milton, in her hands; and important enough for her to press inside one of her father's book, even knowing that he would not be too pleased about. Since her departure to London, Mr. Thornton had often looked and touched the rose. For him the rose had been a link with Margaret. A link with the woman he loved and whom he had believed to have lost forever.  
>Mr. Thorton looked at the rose for a while. He would like to tell Margaret about it; but he decided to wait until they were married. Then he would show it to her, or maybe ... he would get it framed and present it to her. Yes! He would get it framed. She would like that. Yes! He felt sure that she would like that very much. He took the rose with him and walked to his writing desk. Then he laid the rose carefully on the desk and started his letter. A letter to Margaret... the first love letter he wrote in his life.<p>

When he finished the letter, he returned the rose to the pages of Plato. He laid down in his bed and his thoughts drifted towards Margaret. And then he knew what would make her really happy. He would contact Mrs. Purkis, the landlady of the Lennards, where he had stayed during his visit to Helstone... and then, when Margaret arrived in her new home, as his wife; she would find, waiting for her, six dozens of roses. Yellow roses! Helstone's roses!

THE END

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><p>I hope you enjoyed it! Any comment is very much appreciated!<p>

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><p>DID YOU RECOGNIZED IT?<p>

CHAPTER I - 'HASTE TO THE WEDDING'  
>I should like to have some idea of the place you will be living in, when <strong>ninety-six Harley Street<strong> will be looking dingy and dirty, and dull, and shut up.

CHAPTER XXIV - MISTAKES CLEARED UP  
><strong>"All this gladness in life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, all this keen sense of being, I owe to her!" And it doubles the gladness, it makes the pride glow, it sharpens the sense of existence till I hardly know if it is pain or pleasure, to think that I owe it to one<strong>—nay, you must, you shall hear'—said he, stepping forwards with stern determination—'to one **whom I love**, as I do not believe man ever loved woman before.'

CHAPTER XLIII - MARGARET'S FLITTIN'  
><strong>'DEAR SIR,—The accompanying book I am sure will be valued by you for the sake of my father, to whom it belonged.<strong>  
><strong>'Yours sincerely,<strong>  
><strong>'MARGARET HALE.'<strong>


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